


A Vicious Appetite

by Aria_i_Adagio



Series: Whatever I've Done - First Draft [5]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bath Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Female Apprentice (The Arcana), Multi, OT3, Polyamory, ghost - Freeform, poly route, skink gigging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_i_Adagio/pseuds/Aria_i_Adagio
Summary: Remix of the events of The Wheel of Fortune, combining the Julian and Asra routes.  With a little extra spice. Cardamom, I think.





	1. Vetiver and Sandalwood

**Author's Note:**

> Some canon dialogue. Fic titles continue to pull phrases from Depeche Mode's "Barrel of a Gun." Chapter titles are anything that sounds good to me at the time.

Sunlight is streaming in the window of my guest room, when I wake.  Mid morning, if I had to guess. Julian and I are tangled together in the bedsheets.  He's reclined on his side, head proper up on his arm, watching me with a tender, contented smile on his face.  He trails a hand throughout a lock of my hair and down my sternum to circle around my navel. “Morning,  _ solnishka moya. _ ” 

I don't need to ask him to translate. My sun.  He's called me this before, in some prior moment that we've both lost.

I reach up and trace the sharp curve of his jaw with the back of my fingertips. “Good morning. How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“Not long enough.”  He leans over to kiss me - and we're interrupted by a brisk knock on the door.

“Shit!” He leaps out of bed and grabs his pants and boots out of the floor.  I follow, slipping back on the discarded robe from last night and wrapping myself in a blanket for good measure.  Gesturing for Julian to hide himself in the bath, I approach the door.

There's a second knock and a shouted greeting from a voice I recognize.  “Dema, are you in there?”

Portia. 

Julian, hearing his sister's voice pokes his head out of the bath. “Get dressed,” I hiss at him.  “Coming!” 

I shake out a blanket and toss it over the bed, before I undo the wards I placed last night and open the door for Portia.

“Dema, oh you  _ are _ here! Milady sent-”

“Portia,” I take her arm and pull her inside. “Why don't you step in for a second.” Nudging the door closed, I replace the wards from the previous night before turning back to her and state bluntly, “Julian's here.”

On cue, Julian - now wearing his pants and shirt, boots and jacket in hand - steps out of the bathroom. “Hi, Pasha.” He's blushing again.

Portia crosses her arms in front of her and gives us both a look that oscillates between amusement and distaste.  “Well. That explains the sleeping in at least.” She notices his right eye and springs forward. “Ilya, your eye!”

“It's okay, Pasha.” He sits down and begins to with his feet and legs into those boots.

“It really is.” I want to let him tell her himself.

Nonchalantly, while he's doing the clasps up the sides of his boots, he glances up at Portia and smiles, “I'm innocent.”

“You are!” She closes the rest of the distance between them and throws her arms around him. “Of course, you are! Who finally convinced you?”

“Umm... Big guy, friend of Asra's, said I was locked in the dungeon when the fire -”

“Asra!” Portia jumps back up at the name. “Dema, Asra is here. He and milady are waiting for you on the portico overlooking the garden.” Her gaze returns to Julian. “But your eye, that doesn't explain your eye!”

Julian looks at me helplessly.  He’s going to have to explain that one himself.

“Portia, I better go meet Asra and Nadia. Can you hide Julian in your cottage?”

“Well.” She looks back and forth between us. “I can, if I can get him there.”

“I'll glamour you again, Julian.” I pick his jacket and cape up out of the floor and offer them to him.  “Same as last night, as long as you don't walk straight into someone, people will just see Portia with no one.”

Finally finished with his boots, Julian gets out of the chair and takes the rest of his clothes from me, leaning down to quickly kiss my mouth.  “Should I start searching for the dungeon?”

“Wait for me. I'll come to Portia's cottage as soon as I can.  Portia, maybe you can figure out some way that Julian could search the palace with me without me having to keep glamouring him.”

“One of you is going to have to tell me what's going on.”

“I will, Pasha.”

She looks skeptical, but hopeful.  I smile at her and hope it's reassuring before reaching the sigils of the glamour around Julian.  

They leave, and I wash my face and throw on the first clothes that come to hand in my haste to get to the portico. It's not that late. To have arrived so quickly, Asra must have left Muriel's at dawn, if not before. I wonder what he's told Nadia so far.

 

Nadia and Asra are sitting together at a small folding table that has been set up in the portico, laughing together over a pot of tea.  Asra's eyes are crinkled with pleasure, and the Countess looks happier than I have ever seen her. I pause, reluctant to interrupt a pleasant moment when I know that both have a lot on their minds.  Nadia sees me however, and calls me to them.

“Dema, how good of you to finally join us!” She pats the seat beside her, a smile belying her scold. “Did Portia find you?”

“She did.”  I sit, and Asra pours a cup of tea for me. Even with Nadia and the palatial setting, this feels like home for the moment.

“Ah, well, your master has been improving my mood with some tales from his travels. I'm afraid I haven't slept well for the past several nights. Nightmares.”

“Nightmares, Countess?”

“Yes, it must be the stress of preparing for the Masquerade.  Last night I dreamt I found an awful sort of goat in the kitchens, devouring all the food and drink.”

Asra and I exchange looks. 

“A goat?” I ask.

“Yes, a horrid thing! Red eyes, horned, missing a limb.”

“Nadi, I don't think this dream is just from stress.  No one has forgotten the past.” Asra stops. I wonder if the irony of his statement has occurred to him.  He chooses his next words carefully. “The preparations for the Masquerade could stir up old energy.”

“Hmm. . .” The Countess furrows her brow in concentration.  I suspect that she understands the identity he is trying to obscure behind the term energy.  “The master bedroom has recently been renovated, perhaps that could have stirred up old . . .energy.”

“It's possible. Dema and I could do a blessing of the room. The entire wing if needed.”

Before he can continue, we're interrupted by two of Nadia’s courtiers.  Vulgora, brash as the last time I met them tramps toward us, some object crushed in their gauntleted fist.  Volta, ever curiously endearing, scurries after them clapping her hands together with glee when she sees the set table.

“Countess!” Vulgora slams their fist down on the table.  Asra and I startle. Nadia doesn't seem surprised; she calmly moves several pastries from the serving dish to a small plate and offers it to Volta with a benevolent smile before returning her attention to Vulgora.

“Yes, Pontifex?”

Vulgora opens their fist, revealing the crushed form of a red beetle. “My house has been infested with these insects.  A swarm has been arriving on an eastern wind for the past hour.”

Asra, Nadia, and I exchange concerned looks. The last time the red beetles were seen was just before the plague.  Their return can't mean anything except trouble. And there is little chance that they will limit their pestilence to Vulgora.

Volta looks up from her pastries, noticing Asra and me for the first time. “Oh, Countess, your magicians are multiplying!”

“Procurator Volta,” Asra gets her with surprise as if he suddenly remembers the funny little woman's name. “You could smell the plague.”

“Oh yes, it set my teeth on edge!”

“Volta, your work separating clean food from the beplagued was invaluable.” The tiny woman beams under Nadia’s approving gaze. “And Vulgora, your . .  . Enthusiasm for the battlefield has greatly benefit this house. I wonder if I might impose on you to unleash some of your skill upon the insects?”

“Ah, yes, now that you mention it I don't know why I am here when I could be eradicating every last one of them.  Come, Volta.” They stomp down the steps as Portia is coming up, shouting for her to make sure that their rooms are prepared.  Portia’s face suggests that the preparations may involve a few subtle adjustments to insure an individualized level of ‘comfort.’  

Nadia wraps the remaining breakfast pastries in a napkin and presses the bundle into Volta’s hands with a smile.  Volta exclaims her thanks before scurrying off after Vulgora. 

The Countess’s mask of calm drops once her courtiers have left. “This is terrible news. If the plague is returning now, when guests have already begun to arrive . . .”

Asra reaches across the table and places his hand on hers. “One thing at a time, Nadi.”

She looks up, calming herself with a deep breath, and stands up from the table. Asra and I follow suit. “Very well. We'll try this blessing of yours.  If it does nothing but ease my nightmares, so much the better.”

Asra steps toward her and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes widen, then she nods. “Very well, but first.” She looks both of us over. “I must invite you to bathe. You both look as if you spent the night in a ditch.” Asra's clothes are covered with mud and mine are no better, I must have grabbed what I wore last night. “Portia, would you see to it that a bath is drawn for our guests? Use mine. It's the finest in the palace.”

“Of course, milady. Magicians, if you'll come with me.” Portia efficiently herds us through the palace stopping to give instructions another servant who dashes off to carry them out.  Once we are out of earshot of the Countess and the other staff, she begins to whisper. “I've got my brother hidden for the moment.” Asra realizes that Portia is Julian's sister and looks at her with interest.  “I'm going to borrow a uniform for him from the laundry and tell the staff that I've hired an extra servant to assist you. It should keep most people from asking questions, but it won't fool Milady, so you can't let her see him.” At the door leading into Nadia’s bath, she stops and looks intently at both of us. “Do you think you'll find enough to prove to Milady he's innocent?”

“We'll do our best,” I assure her.  Nadia is the person I am least worried about convincing. I suspect that the courtiers will be a much harder sell.

“I hope it's enough.”

 

~~~

 

The Countess's bath is more of a small pool, high in a tower with a window that overlooks the city. A servant has already been in, filling the pool and laying out fresh towels and robes.  If Portia has questions about our various relationships, she doesn't ask them as she pushes us in and closes the door.

As the door latches behind us, Asra presses me against it and kisses me, deep and long.  It feels right, and I wonder how it has taken me three years to figure this out. We're both breathless when he breaks it off, staring into each other's eyes while our chests rise and fall in near unison.  “I've wanted that for so long.”

“Asra.” With one hand tangled in his soft hair, I pull him back to me, and kiss him - gently this time.  He allows it for a moment, then spins me around and pushes me back against the door. Pushing my hair to side, he finds a spot high on the back of my neck, nipping and sucking at it. I gasp in pleasure and surprise. It is definitely a  _ spot _ of which I was unaware.  Behind me, Asra laughs in delight and runs his hands down my back.

“Let's not waste the finest bath in the palace.”

He already has his shirt off and is undoing his belt by the time I turn around.  The muscles of his back ripple, and I feel a compulsion to trace each one. I stumble after him, undoing my waistband as I go.  He turns and catches me, pulling my shirt over my head, sucking on my bottom lip, and dragging his thumbnails lightly over the skin just underneath my breasts.  Another spot. He must have a map.

 

I sink into the bath with a sigh.  Perfection doesn't begin to describe the temperature of the water.  I dunk my head under the water, letting the warmth wash across my face.  Lifting my head, I push my drenched hair back. Asra is across from me, water lapping at his hips, sorting through the assorted bottles housed on a shelf beside the pool.  I step behind him, sliding my hands along his shoulders and arms. As with so many things, I know I've passed my hands over his chest and the flat planes of his stomach before, but I can't recall the memory itself.

“Which do you like more?”  His offers two different bottles from the collection.  I sniff each one.

“The vetiver.”

“Mmm...I thought so.  Let me get your hair.”  He turns around in my arms.  His eyes are sparking with a smile - amethyst, more than lavender, right now.  His hands are tender as he works the soap through my hair. If I were a cat, I’d purr.  But I’m not, so I settle on tipping my head back, eyes closed. Asra’s mouth finds my throat, starting high, just under my chin and working lower.  He reaches my collarbone and stops.

“What?”  I open my eyes.  One side of his mouth is quirked up in an impish grin.

“You should rinse your hair out before the soap gets in your eyes.”

I narrow my eyes as him and dunk myself back beneath the water.  Keeping my hands on his hips I find the place where his thigh meets the rest of his torso and press my mouth against it, tonguing and sucking until I feel him twitch.  Rising back about the water, I push my hair out of my eyes, smile at him, and then step around him to inspect the contents of the shelf. 

“Which of these do  _ you _ like?”  I pick up one in a cut crystal bottle.  It smells of lavender. Too obvious. I put it down and pick up a amber tinted bottle.  “Mmmm . . . how about sandalwood?” 

“I trust your judgement.”

“Sandalwood it is then.”  I find a clear space along the edge of the bath and pull myself out of the water to sit on the edge.  I'll be able to reach his hair better with the extra height. “Come here.”

I wrap my legs around his waist and start working the creamy soap into a lather and through his hair.  The muscles in his neck and shoulders are tight, so I go ahead and work my fingers down his neck and across his shoulders.  He leans into my arms, groaning as I continue working my fingers down his spine. 

I reach the two dimples where his back and ass meet and make myself stop.  Sitting up, I smirk at him. “Rinse off. Wouldn't want you getting soap in your eyes.”

Returning my smirk, he dunks himself.  He lifts his head back above the water and pause with his face between my parted legs, before pressing a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other.  Then my belly, sternum, each breast, collarbone, neck, until I'm laying back on the floor with him leaning over me. He finishes at my mouth and pulls back.

“I am not making love to you for the first time in a cold, tile floor.”

I whine and half sit up, resting my weight on my elbows. “Technically, it wouldn't be the first time.”

“First time in three years, first time in recent memory.  Whatever, you deserve better than a time floor and a rushed timeline.”

I roll my eyes. “Romantic.”

“I've been called worse.” He climbs out of the bath and offers me a hand up.  “Come on, let's see what Nadi has left for us to eat and I'll fix your hair for you.”

 

~~~

 

Asra's braided my hair hundreds of time before, but there's something different now as he sections it out and begins plaiting the locks into a French braid.

“Your hair was short - shorter than mine - the first time I met you.  You said it was too warm in this damn city, and you didn't have time to bother with it.”

“What happened?”

“You grew it out one winter and decided that you enjoyed wearing braids.”

“Were you the one who started braiding it?”

“No, that was your aunt, the one you inherited the shop from.”

With my eyes closed, I want to tell myself that I can feel a different pair of hands in my hair and an older woman's voice. But there’s no memory there.

“I don't remember her at all.”

“She was kind.  She taught me, instead of running me off, even before you came to live with her.  I think I only saw her mad once, when you came home with that tattoo.”

“Tattoo? But I don't have any tattoos.”

“Well...” He ties a bit of ribbon around the end of the braid and tosses it over my shoulder.

“Asra?” I twist around where I can see him.  He has his head turned, avoiding my eyes. Cagey again.

“It's . . . complicated.”

“Everything is with you.”

“Dema, I promise I'll tell you everything - at least, everything that I know - once I figure out how to.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon, I think. I hope.”

We're interrupted by Portia's distinct pattern of knocks at the door, announcing that they've finished our ever so strange preparations for the blessing. 

 

~~~

 

“How's Julian?” I ask Portia in a low voice as she escorts us through the halls.  

“I gave him a book, a beer, a pencil, and a stack of blank paper. Then I told Pepi to sit on him and not move.  That reminds me.” She pulls a folded paper out of her sash. “I'm supposed to give you this.”

The paper unfolds into a list with the ostentatious title: An Illustrated Compendium on the Practicalities of Ridiculous Boots.  No. 1: seasonal flooding . . . Julian has accompanied each item in his list with a quick sketch, presumably of him, given the curly hair, black gloves, and thigh high boots.  He's sensibly left out his signature eye patch.

Asra leans over my shoulder examining the fourth sketch which shows Julian holding some sort of trident. “No. 4: frog gigging.” He laughs and smiles. “So, Ilya is still capable of being adorable.  What's this in the margin?”

I turn the paper on its side and peer at the smaller scrawl. “‘Or skink gigging, A. I know you're reading this.’  I think he's getting a bit loopy.”

“Tell me about it.” Portia gripes.  “I assume that you two are up to something important, but I don't know how I'm going to keep him still for much longer.”

“Portia, are you scared of snakes?” Asra unwinds Faust from his shoulders.

“No.  Why?”

“I'm going to send Faust with you to help with Ilya, if that's okay.  Faust, think you can keep him in one place without squeezing him too hard?”

“ _Tall friend_ _? Squeeze? _ ” Faust flicks her tongue against Asra's face and he laughs.  

“You probably don't need to squeeze him. Just sit in the doorway.  Unless there's a window. Portia, do you have a window?”

“Umm... Yes.”

“Hmm... Okay, Faust, just don’t squeeze too hard.”  He hands Faust to a startled looking Portia. Her blue eyes get even bigger as Faust slithers into her wide sleeve to hide.


	2. Sinners, Among Who I am First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up right after taunting goat ghost Lucio out of the woodwork.

Portia hustles me through the garden and back to her cottage.  I clutch at the scant robe and hope that none of the courtiers, with their variations on the theme of creepiness are around.  “Don’t worry,” Portia reassures me. “I grabbed some of your clothes earlier. It’s just past noon. Milady expects you and Asra for dinner, but I think you and Ilya have some time left to search for this dungeon he’s talking about.”  

We reach her cottage in record time, and she pushes me in the door, closing it quickly behind her.  Julian is sitting at her kitchen table with a book open in front of him. Pepi is in his lap, and Faust is politely, but intently, guarding him from the middle of the table.

“Whew.”  Portia sighs.  “Okay, kids, you get into dungeon searching clothes.  I’m going to do a spin through my garden and take out some weeds.  Pepi?” The cat gets up out of Julian’s lap and saunters off after Portia into the garden.  The door closes again and I’m left alone with Julian and Faust. I let out the breath I’ve been holding since I left Lucio’s wing.  Portia pulled me away from Asra and Nadia before we were able to debrief. The tracks from those cold claws dragging along my skin still burn with cold.

“Are you okay?”  Julian gets up from the table and walks to me, touching one hand to my cheek.  “You look like you just saw a ghost.” 

I look up at him biting my lower lip with worry.  Asra can claim that whatever the count has become isn’t quite a ghost, but the thing we roused with our game of truth or dare is close enough for me to number it as such.  And a dangerous ghost, if it is able to threaten Asra. 

“You did just see a ghost.  Are you alright? You’re not hurt are you?”

“I’m okay.  Asra, Nadia, and I coaxed the Lucio monster out of the woodwork, but it couldn’t really do anything.”  I hold up one hand to try to stave off his concern. Time enough later to try to get Asra to explain why he and Julian had matching, glowing marks and what exactly goat-devil-Lucio meant about him passing through the incorporeal planes.  And not playing by the rules. And the connection between that mark and having his “sweet, little Dema” by his side. Or how the adjective “sweet” can possibly be applied to me.

I pause to scratch Faust’s head.  “Asra wants you to meet him by the willow tree.  Thanks for keeping Julian here.” She flicks her tongue against my hand.  I pick her up and set her in an open window; she’ll find her way from there.  Julian is eyeing me from across the room when I turn back around. Damn robe. “Portia said something about having gotten some of my clothes.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, those . . . I just can’t quite -” With his long legs, he only needs two paces to cover the distance between us, and I find that I’m scooped up in his arms.  “Remember where she put them.”

“Julian.”

He nudges aside the neckline of the robe with his nose.  “Damn, you smell good, I mean, um, better than usual.”

“Julian.  We don’t have time right now.  Dungeon. Plague cure. Prove innocence. Remember?”

“Right.” He sets me back down and indicates two piles of clothes in the armchair.  One is my old blouse and pants, perfect for searching through dusty corridors. I shuck of the gauzy robe and start dressing, pausing to scold Julian again about the time when he stops to stare at me.

He manages to get into the uniform Portia has borrowed for him.  She's also left three wigs out to cover up his hair and eye. He surveys the wigs and looks at me helplessly.

“The blonde wig is out.”  I take it from him and set it aside.

“Oh?”

“I don’t tend to like blonde hair on men.”  I didn’t care for blonde hair on men even before seeing Lucio’s portrait.  I decidedly do not care for it now. Something about the brown one bothers me as well. The black one is a bit shorter and sleeker; it’ll go better with the lines of his face if I can get it to cover his right eye.  “Sit. I'll get your hair sorted.”

I pull his hair back into a bun, tying it with one of Portia's ribbons and kiss his forehead.  “Have any ideas about where to start looking?”

“Lucio's old wing - maybe?”

“I'm not in any kind of rush to go there again, unless you think it's likely that this dungeon is there.” I work the wig over his scalp and tuck his stray curls into it and arranging it to cover his eye.

He shrugs. “Not necessarily. We can also check the library again. There might be something else at my desk that will give us a hint.”

“I much prefer that idea.”

Portia raps sharply on the door and enters. “Are you two ready? Oh, Ilya, you look practically respectable!”

“So it is that bad.”

“Oh hush. Portia, can you let us into the library again?”

She jangles her keys happily. “I got you.  Come on, Ian.”

“Ian? Really? That’s my fake name.”

 

Portia closes library door behind us.  I go straight for Julian's old desk, even though I'm not sure what I could have missed in the prior three times I've been through it.  While I'm thumbing through his papers again, he hovers behind me, trailing his fingers over my back and shoulders.

“We were interrupted the last time we were in here.”  He leans over and kisses my cheek, then my neck.

“How do you ever find space in that lovely head of yours for thoughts that don’t have something to do with sex?”

“Mmm, around you it's difficult.” He steals another kiss, and I dart my hand up to swat him on the cheek.  

“Julian.” I turn around so that I'm facing him.  “If we prove that you're innocent, we'll have all the time in the world to make out, fuck, drink ourselves silly, fight the biggest asshole in the bar, but if we don't . . .”  My voice trails off. I don't want to consider the completion of not finding evidence of his innocence. I grab him and press myself close to him wishing that I was talking enough to hear his heart beating.  One breath, then two. I let him go without looking at his face and force myself to turn back to the desk. “I don't remember seeing anything here that looked like a map. What else was in this room at the time?”

“Well, umm, Asra had made a sort of nest of cushions here.”  He begins to walk toward the opposite corner. “I was always tripping over them when I went to...” He stops in front of a shelf and touches a book. “Dema, I think I've got it.” 

He tips a series of books out from the shelf. Instead of being falling to the ground, they trigger some mechanism in the shelf, which swings slowly out into the room.

Cold, stagnant airs rolls out the the revealed passage and into the library.  I curl one hand into Julian's and summon a ball of light to the other. “This is a charming entryway for an office.” 

“Umm yeah, my old boss, Valdemar,” his voice shakes as he says the name and he coughs nervously, as if saying the name will cause them to appear. “They had very specific taste in decorating.”

I step into the passage, pulling him after me and hoping that the hidden door doesn't swing shut behind us.  Julian's hand tightens around mine, and he holds the other out in front of us, pushing back the cobwebs that have formed.  The passage slopes down for ages, descending past the cellar levels of the palace.

“I remember this was all supposed to be secret.  Valdemar found some old crypt, cleaned out the skeletons - or most of the skeletons - and renovated it.”  He shudders and stops. “I don't remember why we had to be so secretive. I’m not sure that I want to.”

“It'll be worth it if we can show you're innocent.”

“Ah,” he smiles ruefully. “What if I find that I'm guilty of something worse?  Lucio - whoever killed him - deserved to die, but . . . whatever happened here.  I think there's a reason I forgot it. But, if I can find the cure for the plague again, maybe that will be worth it.  Have you seen the Lazaret in the harbor?”

A shiver runs through me as he says the name that's been given to the island moldering under the shadow of a smoke stack.  Certainly it was only a draft of cold air, but I step a little closer to him. 

“The city couldn't handle the dead and the dying.  We thought that maybe if we separated the suck from the healthy it would slow the spread.  And then, there was no side left to buy the dead, and not enough people to handle the bodies.  That's when they built the crematoriums. Because we talked to find anything, to do anything to stop the plague.  I helped design the damn things, you have to raise the temperature frighteningly high to completely incinerate a human body.  A regular fire just -”

A red light flares behind my eyes and pain shoots through my head.  The light I've summoned snaps out. Before I can stumble to the floor, Julian's hands are on my shoulders. “Dema!” He pulls me against him.  I listen to his heartbeat, pay attention to the feeling of his hands running over my back, and take a couple show breaths to recenter myself in the dark.  I don't have time right now.

When I’m able, I summon the light back, and Julian hunches over, inspecting my face.  

“Are you okay?”

“Let's just find your old office so we can get out of here.”

He presses his lips together with concern, but takes my hand again, and we continue down the passageway.  It ends in front of a rusty cage built around lift down to an even lower level. The cage is locked, and the lift is barely large enough to hold a single person.  Julian is tense beside me, tracing his fingers over a small plaque set over the lock.

“This . . . This is an old nightmare.”  He pulls the key we found in his desk from his pocket and reads the plaque aloud.  “Bloody hands may turn the key. Know the weight of your sins, and enter.”

He's gone paler than usual, more than I can attribute to the dim lighting.  I take the key from him. “It's just a sign to mess with you. Let me try.”

The key fits the lock, but no matter how I trust and wiggle it, I can't get the lock to open.  Julian's hand closes over mine. “I think, Dema, that it has to be me.” 

I let go of the key.  When he turns it, the grate in front of the cage screeches open.  “Bloody hands,” he repeats softly. Unable to do anything else, I wrap my arms tightly around him.  “Whatever I am guilty of - it's down there.” He pulls away from me and steps into the lift. The cage door swings shut behind him, separating us.  “Time to face the music.” He's forcing a smile, but his hands are shaking.

“Julian.” I close my hand over one of his.  The iron bars of the cage bite with years of cold.  “Don't go down there alone.”

He presses his forehead against the bars. “I wouldn't have gotten this far without you, but...”

I reach out a finger and touch it to his cheek.  He follows as I bring it down closer, to where I can stand on my toes and kiss him through the gate.  His eyes are despondent when we break the kiss, and part of me knows that he won't let me go with him.  

“Wait just a moment.”  I rummage through my pockets and find a cut glass necklace charm.  It's cheap, but it will serve my purpose. I hold it close to me infusing it with magic and warmth.  When I hand it to Julian, it's glory with a soft yellow light. 

“ _ Solnishka _ .”  He takes the charm from me and quickly presses his lips to my fingertips.  “Don't stand here in the dark waiting. I want a future now, one with you. I promise, I’ll see you soon.”

He throws a lever and the contraption groans into actual lowering into the pit below.  I shout after him, knowing he’ll hear, even if he won't listen, “Julian, send the lift back up for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I am counted among those who go down into the pit . . . Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.”  
> I was minding my own business, writing a not exactly safe for work fanfic for a silly game, and next thing I know, I have Psalm 88 (87) and various other penitent prayers rolling through your head. And thus the chapter title (which is actually from 1st Timothy, but shows up in the prayers before Eucharist). #recovering seminarian, #things that happen to theology majors
> 
> Bonus History Moment: Julian (the Apostate) was the name of the last pagan Roman emperor. He was a well educated, philosophical chap who tried restore traditional Roman religious practices as the official religion of the Empire. He also had a sweet beard.


	3. Free Your Earthbound Limbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly written listening to Devotchka, 100 Lovers, in case that’s the sort of thing you like to track. The chapter title comes from “All the Sand in All the Sea” from that album.

He's not sending the lift back up.  I know it, but I wait anyway, pacing back and forth, whispering the words ‘soon’ and ‘future’ as if they are the incantation for a spell that will keep him safe.  I can't gauge the time without any natural light, but it must be getting late in the afternoon. 

“Dammit, Julian,” I tell in the general direction of the lift. “You don't have to do everything by yourself.”

“Dema!” A voice - Portia's voice - calls from the passageway.  

“Portia?”

She's bustling, as ever, through the tunnel, carrying a lit torch.  I shy back from it. She looks at me sheepishly. “Sorry, Ilya mentioned something about you not liking open flames, but I needed a light. You can put it out if you want.”

I do, feeding the energy from the torch into my summoned light at the same time, to illuminate a slightly larger circle around the two of us

“Where’s Ilya?”

“There's a lift down to an even lower level.”

“Oh!” Portia walks over to the lift. I send the light orb with her.  She reads the inscription. “I bet my brother took one look at that and decided to go it on his own, didn't he? It's just the sort of thing . . . Dema, are you okay?”

“I . . . I just . . .” The panic that has been building in me breaks when faced with her kind blue eyes. “He said he'd see me soon and that he winter a future and now I can't stop thinking that something is going to go horribly wrong and . . .”

Portia takes my hands in hers. “How long have you been standing here?”

“I don't know.”

“Come on. Let's go back up to the palace. Ilya said he wanted a future? That's good, that's optimistic of him.  I bet he already found whatever he needed and then stumbled into a different way out and he's back at my place spoiling Pepi.”

When we reach the library, Portia glances out the window and the rapidly fading sunlight and curses.  “Damn, it’s later than I thought, and the Countess is still expecting you for dinner. I’ve got to get you ready.  Come on, there’s nothing for it.”

~~~

There are fine, new clothes laid out in my room.  Portia helps me into the flowing silky garments, folding and tying a dizzying array of pleats and knots.  She takes my hair down and rebraids it, two small plaits on the side and loose in back. She produces a small case from one the drawers in the room and pauses in front of me.  

“Is it okay if I do your makeup?  I noticed you don’t usually wear any.”

“It’s fine.  Mostly, I’m just lazy.”

Portia smiles.  “I won’t put a lot on you.  Just your eyes and lips, really.”  She’s quick, just as efficient as she is with everything else.  “There, you look ravishing.”

Asra, resplendent in the outfit Nadia has chosen for him, enters my room without knocking.  He’s in a blue tunic with dagged sleeves, worked round in an evil eye trim. A wide sash - tied over a full length, understated cream sarong - emphasizes his slim waist.  He arches his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “You look lovely.”

“Nadia does have good taste.”

“Milady certainly does.  Now, both of you are due in the ballroom. Go on.  If I hear from Ilya, I’ll find a way to get word to you.”

I hurried catch him up on what little Julian and I found as we walk through the palace hallways.

“Of course, Ilya would decide to go alone and leave you to worry.”

I’m in too full of agreement with the statement to defend Julian.  “Did you and Nadia decide what to do about Lucio’s ghost?”

“No, but I don’t think he’ll appear again until he can change his shape, so we should have a couple of days.  I need to remember what happened in the ritual right before he died.” He loops an arm around my waist. “But, right now, lets be good guests and impress a handful of Prakran princesses.”

~~~

Three of Nadia’s sisters have already arrived for the masquerade.  If Nasmira is an avatar of the mother goddess, Nahara is her wrathful, powerful incarnation.  (And the most magnificently beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. Asra can deal with being second.)  Navra . . . I can’t figure out Navra, but right now she’s cavorting about me, snapping her fingers together to create a rhythm and spouting some nonsense about there being no steps to dancing.  I take Asra’s hands in mine in part to escape her . . . encouragement. He smiles and takes my left hand in his, right hand settling on my waist.

“This is nice.  With everything going on, I haven’t been able to just spend time with you.  I’ll follow however you lead.”

I step forward, and he steps back.  Deliberately or not, his step is not quite as deep as mine and we end up ever so incrementally closer together.  Princess Nasmira is skillfully plucking a complex tune from a stringed instrument. Nahara accompanies her, singing in a rich contralto voice.  Navra is still . . . cavorting.

I turn back to Asra, spinning myself along his outstretched arm and smiling as he catches me.  His eyes, though half lidded, track my every move and a peaceful smile that isn’t marred by anxiety or worry spreads across his face.  It’s a look that I don’t remember seeing on his face before; yet, something tells me it isn’t a new look.

“How long have you looked at me like this?”

“Who knows?  By the time I noticed, I was in too deep.  Dema, how long do you think we’ve know each other?”

“I don’t know. Five years?”  That accounts for the time I can remember, plus enough - perhaps - to explain his level of devotion.

“Longer.”

I turn, still swaying to the music so that my back is pressed against his chest and his arm is crossed over my body.  I feel more contained like this, safer, if we’re to discuss something like how many years of a relationship I can no longer recall.  “Six, then?”

“Still not enough.”

“Seven? Eight?”

“Longer.”  He laughs softly, breath warm against my ear.  “I haven’t felt this way in ages. I never want to let you out of my arms again.”

For a moment, I think about Julian and feel a pang of guilt.  The temptation of this moment with Asra is strong. Enough so that I find I am holding both images - Julian caught in the dark of that crypt and Asra bathed in the light of the ballroom - together, intertwined in constant tension in my head.  The music slows and I turn again in Asra’s arm, tucking my head against his shoulder.

“How did we meet?”

“Mmmm...it was the Masquerade actually.  I used to sell masks and trinkets Muriel and I had made.  Your aunt would let me set up beside her shop. Your family had sent you to live with her -”  I start at the idea of an entire family I’ve forgotten, and Asra’s arms tighten around me. “So that she could teach you to use your magic, and so she . . . well, that’s really it.  We met.”

“More than eight years ago.”  Twice the amount of time I can remember at all.  Thrice the amount of time I can remember coherently.

“We’ll get your memories back, somehow.”  He sounds a little sad as he says it, but this close to him, I don’t really care what he’s keeping back.

The music slows to halt and is replaced by applause.  I look up, feeling my cheeks heat. Navra, of course.

“What raw intimacy, what passion! What a dance! Ahh, where are we?  Surely I am returning from a secret world between the two of you.”

Nadia smiles from where she is standing beside a pillar.  “You are enchanting together.”

I glance at Asra.  His cheeks are touched with embarrassment as well.  Nasmira comes to our rescue.

“Oh, it is warm in here.  Didi, why don’t we step out onto the veranda?”

“Yes! The owls are cooing, the moon is shining...the night is young!”

Asra’s hand on the small of my back is warm and welcome as we step out of the ballroom.

~~~

Nadia stands by the railing, looking out over the moonlit garden.  “In three days time,” she muses to no one in particular. “This will be from of the few safe havens from the revelry.”

Nahara stands next to her sister, folding her large hands on the rail.  “It was a surprise to receive your invitation. You never liked parties.”

“Oh, but the people of Vesuvia live for the Masquerade.”

“Is that so?” Navra whirls about, ending up facing me, bent down to my eye level and uncomfortably close.  “Do you live for it, Dema?” I stare at her in absolute horror. 

It takes Asra a moment to come to my rescue, but he manages.  “Oh, Dema and I met at the Masquerade. The one the year Nadia first came to the city, actually, nine years ago.”

Nine years.

Nadia rubs the bridge of her nose and shakes her head.  “Nine years, has it really been that long. And how much has changed!”

“You seem a bit changed yourself, Didi.”  Nasmira rubs her hands together. She looks worried.

“Yes, we have been meaning to ask you something personal, but we do not wish to embarass you.”

Nadia turns around, leaning back against the railing.  “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of my magicians.”

“Fine.”  Nahara looks stern.  “We have all been talking and we are concerned about this execution you have planned.”  If possible, I like Nahara more than I did a moment before. I make a mental note to erect a temple in her honor at the first possible moment.

“We understand the justification, of course.”  Nasmira reaches out and touches her sisters hand.  “But is there no system of legal trial in Vesuvia?”

“As a matter of fact, there is not.  One of the many failed institutions I plan to remedy.  But let me assure you -” She turns her head to the side, looking over her shoulder at the garden, upper lip raised in disgust.  “This man is not one to spare.”

My hand twitches at my side.  Asra grabs it, squeezing my knuckles.  I shake off his grasp and hope that my voice doesn’t actually tremble.  “Countess, I’ve been thinking. There was magic involved in Count Lucio’s death, wasn’t there?  All the strange things happening in the Count’s room . . .”

“I will admit that it does seem to be the case.  I noticed something strange myself when we were cleaning the room.  Only Lucio’s body burned . . . the bed clothes and hangings were left untouched.”

Inwardly, I sigh in relief; I trust that Nadia will make the right decisions once she has the facts.  I have to someone get those facts and then communicate them. “Dr. Devorak can’t use magic. Ask any of the townspeople who know - knew - him.”

“But,”  Nadia looks at me curiously.  “I’m told the people want him dead, that they hunger for revenge.”  Right, which is why Julian has been wandering the south end of the city, essentially in the open, for at least a few weeks without the palace being the wiser.  Nadia looks away from me and begins to gnaw on her thumbnail, uncharacteristically uncertain. “At least, that is what I have been told by my . . . courtiers.”

“And you trust your courtiers?”  Nahara again. My plans for her temple double in size and splendor.

Volta and Vulgora, covered in red grime and trailing a haze of gunfire, arrive on cue.  Volta is practically skipping with glee. “Countess, countess! Wonderful news!” 

“The decimation is a smashing success.”  Vulgora raises a clenched fist in the air.  Nahara shoots them what is quite possibly the least impressed look I have ever seen, and I add another panel to the iconography in my imagined temple of Nahara.  “I’ll have them all destroyed by the commencement night.”

Nasmira turns to Nadia, concern written on every feature.  “The decimation?”

“Nothing you need to worry over sister.”  Nadia’s voice is uncharacteristically rapid.  “Well done, you two. Did you retrieve any live specimens?”

“I am afraid there are no remains to crunch upon - I mean speak of - left.”  Volta seems genuinely distressed to disappoint her countess. A beetle works its way out from Vulgora’s sleeve, only to be crushed in their steel gauntlet.

 “...I see.  Well. I suppose that is wonderful news.  Perhaps the pieces are beginning to fall into place.”

“Is that Chandra?”  Nahara interrupts. The pearly owl flies around around us, hovering near Nadia, but refusing to perch, either on her mistress’s shoulder or anywhere else.  She shrieks at us insistently, before taking flight toward the middle of the garden.

“What did Chandra say?” Asra asks.  Nadia can speak with Chandra, like he does Faust?  She has a familiar?

“There seems to be someone by the fountain.”  She hesitates for a moment and then signals to the guard along the wall.  They snap to attention. As a group, we take off into the garden, Nahara instinctively flanking Nadia, even with the guard clanking along behind us.  A raven circles overhead, before swooping down alongside me, crying mournfully. Is this the one I’ve see around Julian? I don’t like what that portends.

A tall figures knees beside the fountain, dripping hands covering his face.  

Julian.

I start forward, only to be stopped by Asra’s hands on my shoulders.

Guards surround the clearing, and Julian stands, making no move to run.  His gaze meets mine, his one visible eye softening for a moment. I shake my head, mouthing “no” and “run” and “what the hell?” but he looks away.  When he turns back, his face is schooled into a sneer. 

“Countess!” He throws his arms out, hands empty, striking a pose - probably as much to bolster his own resolve as to be dramatic. “Your guards have failed to find me, but after three years, I, Julian Devorak, have come to turn myself in for the murder of Count Lucio!”

Asra’s hands on my shoulders keep me from shouting out, but only just.  I recover myself as the guards surround Julian and settle for fixing him with as dark of a glare as I can muster while biting my tongue. 

~~~

I maintain some semblance of composure until Asra and I make it back to my guest room.  Then I pick up a glass tumbler and pitch it into the empty fireplace, screaming in frustration as it shatters against the stone.

Ignoring the other tumbler, I pick up the bottle of whiskey and pull the stopper - there a drink or two remaining.  Asra watches me with solemn eyes, leaning against the door. After I gulp down a couple of generous mouthfuls of whiskey, he takes the bottle from me and sets it aside.

“I don't understand.  He, he wasn't planning anything like that.  Not when we parted.” I sit down in the edge of the bed, looking at my upturned hands.

Asra sits down beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.  “Ilya is nothing if not capricious.”

I lean against him and sniff.  He still smells of sandalwood, with some other spice over it. “I want to cry, but I'm worried that I'll mess up these fancy clothes.”

“Well, that's easy enough to fix.”

“I have no idea how Portia got me into this, much less how I’m going to get out of it.”

Asra looks at me with arched eyebrows then bursts into a laugh.  “Are you asking for help?”

“I’m not trying to be seductive.”

“I know, sweetheart.”  He touches his forehead to mine.  “It’s okay. Here.” He turns my shoulders and examines the fastenings running down my back.  “These are rather needlessly complex, but lovely. I can’t tell you just how splendid you looked tonight.”   He fidgets for a moment and then gets the clasp loose. The rest follow with less effort. He runs his hand along my spine, then back up.  “You’re tense.”

“I’m worried!  And pissed off.”

He pushes the gown over my shoulders and rubs the muscles there.  “I feel several things about Ilya right now. One of which is a strong desire to punch him in the face.”

“He’d probably like that too much.”

“Point.”  He unties something, loosening the sash around my middle.  “Stand.” I do and with a twitch of his hand, the gown falls away, pooling around my feet in the floor.  His fingers linger along the curve of my ass. I turn slowly, and he leans forward, kissing my stomach, just above my navel, where the softness and the curve bother me the most.  “You’re beautiful.”

“Mmm...”  I sink down on the bed again, pull my legs up beside me and lean against his shoulder.  “Can we just cuddle?”

“As long as I’m near you, I can be content.”  He stands, quickly undoing the multiple layers of his costume.  They fall away from his graceful body, joining my dress in the floor.  Draping a blanket over both or us, he gets back into bed next to me. My slight smile as I snuggle against his chest, surprises me, but I’ll take whatever moments of happiness are granted.  

His heart, just under my ear, still doesn’t sound quite right, but perhaps, just maybe, a little stronger, more even than it did when I listened to it in the Magician’s realm.  I ran my hand down his left arm, twining my fingers in his, and cross one leg, over both of his. I try to focus just on Asra, the experience of being this close to him, but my mind whirls back through the day, refusing to quiet.  The mark glowing on Asra’s chest, matching the one on Julian’s neck. Julian’s face descending into that pit. Nine years, Asra has known me, three that I can remember. And a raven crying mournfully. 

“If he managed to get himself hanged? What do I do then?”

“Then you -”  Asra pauses, runs his fingers through my hair, and sighes.  “We both grieve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will shortly be registering my religion of devotion to Nahara with the government. For the tax benefits.
> 
> Poor Asra is kinda getting the short end of the stick these days.
> 
> The rough ages I have in my head for everyone are as follows. Asra and Dema: 28/29 - there’s some real return of Saturn shit going on here, but I think we’re past the 27 club mark; Julian: mid thirties (I will be just as self destructive in my mid thirties, I’m quite positive.); Nadia: little older than Julian, but not much; Portia: I know the devs have Asra as younger than her, but I’m still going with right around 25.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> As ever, thanks for reading. Say hi via tumblr if you want, I’m @aria-i-adagio. And remember, every time you comment, an angel gets its wings (or a devil gets its horns, whichever pleases you more).
> 
> Bonus Link:  
> An adorable little Russian cartoon featuring a lion cub and a turtle singing about enjoying the sun. You’re welcome.


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